


Valentine's 2020

by Wireslide



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Zarkon learns of a new tradition from Lance.
Relationships: Haggar/Zarkon (Voltron), Honerva/Zarkon
Kudos: 3





	Valentine's 2020

The package arrived three days early, and once out of the shipping box, proved to be another box wrapped in bright red paper and gleaming golden ribbons that left a shining trail of hair-fine curls down the hall as it was shredded to pieces. The box, wrapping and all, stayed on the counter, accompanied by a white envelope stamped with pink and red hearts and the name 'Lance' written in careful calligraphy. Behind the counter, no longer dwarfing the remodeled kitchen, the farm's resident chef glanced at the card, then sighed at the litter of ribbon scraps. “The least you can do is sweep that up,” he called after the culprit, who ignored him entirely. He shook his great head, crowned in dusty-dark armor plates that stopped just as the scars in his deep purple skin began, and picked up the package from the counter. “Or put this on the table where it's out of the way, at least.” He muttered.

The kitchen door swung open, a burst of sticky-hot air swirling the shredded ribbon further into the house, and the chef turned. “Hey, Zarkon,” the owner of the farm greeted cheerfully, “I saw Narti accepted a package from the delivery guy.”

“Is he all right?” The huge Galra asked politely.

“Yeah, he's starting to get used to most of us, I think. He said she didn't hiss at him this time so she might be in a bad mood.” Blue eyes followed the helpless gesture to the bits of ribbon on the floor, and Lance smiled. “Well, at least it's a little better now.” He accepted the present and card from Zarkon and plopped into a dining room chair. “Any sign of Rollo yet today?”

“His nightmares kept him up until very early this morning, so I'm not expecting him before three,” the former Black Paladin shrugged and moved back to the stove, “he sleeps better during the day, any more.”

“Well, he knows we're all awake to make sure no one comes in to hurt him,” Lance offered a small shrug in return, “he feels safer being vulnerable. Nothing wrong with that; he cleans out the feed bins for the cows when he can't sleep.”

“I found him curled up in Kaltenecker's stall the other day,” Zarkon informed him, flashing a wide smile over his shoulder, “she wouldn't let me in.”

“Of all the creatures in the universe I could not have predicted Rollo emotionally bonding with, my favorite cow would not have been on the list.” The human's voice was a little distant as he read the card that had come with the present; Zarkon gave Lance a quick once-over and left him to his thoughts.

The big Galra shifted a pan on the stovetop and dropped a pat of butter in it, then retrieved some eggs from the refrigerator. He was well into mixing the ingredients for a basic frittata by the time Lance refocused his attention. “Is Shirogane all right?”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, he's. Fine. Wants to come visit.”

“That could prove a little awkward if you haven't explained--”

“How do I explain it, Z? 'Hey guess what Shiro people who died during the course of the Immense Fuckery keep showing up alive and traumatized at my farm? More than half of them are so disoriented they need weeks to recover and they talk about a 'silver-haired goddess' like it's a fever dream?'” Lance blinked at the mild look his friend was giving him, and slowly sat down while he focused on slowing his breathing. “How do I tell him that I know Allura didn't die, but ascended to become the absolute singularity representing Life?”

“If anyone is going to understand that, Lance, it's Shirogane,” Zarkon's voice was a little dry, and he poured the mixture into the pan on top of the butter, then settled the lid on it and turned the heat on low, “he did volunteer for the project. He freely admits that he still serves.” He glanced back at the much smaller man, then huffed a breath through his nose. “What's in the box?”

“A Valentine's Day present. Man, I forgot it was February.” Lance ran a hand roughly through his hair, and Zarkon took a moment to appreciate the way the human's sweat made the fine strands stick together.

“What is 'Valentine's Day?'”

“It's a mostly romantic holiday, technically three days from now, on the 14th. A day that humans chose to focus on showing their loved ones how much they love them, usually with gifts of chocolate and flowers or a romantic dinner. Sometimes a stuffed toy.” Lance played with the wrapping on the package. “A lot of people try out new potential kinks on Valentine's Day.”

“I thought it was about romance?”

“Humans often mistake sex for a primarily romantic act,” it was Lance's turn to be dry, and the look he shot Zarkon emphasized it, “just like we mostly confuse for whom lingerie is a present.”

“You love wearing lingerie,” a light tenor with an accent that was somehow both clipped and drawled cut in from the couch, “makes it a present for all parties involved. Are you going to open that box or osmose the contents?”

“Sorry, Alfor, didn't know you were sleeping.”

“I wasn't; I was having a wank. What's in the present, Lance?” A head topped with tousled white-blond hair popped up over the back of the couch.

“Dude, come on, don't jerk off in the living room. We've talked about this.” But the admonition came paired with the sound of tearing paper.

“I get worked up when Zarkon's being domestic.”

“Zarkon's always domes—yeah that explains a lot about you. He's like a fourteen foot tall housewife with body armor.” Lance shot Zarkon a fond smile over his shoulder.

“I do not do all of the tasks of a housewife,” the reply was as serene as the smile it came from, “but I am honored you would count me among their ranks.”

“It's not a list of requirements for the title, Z--” Lance got the box open and stared inside, then slapped it closed again and closed his eyes. His breathing had accelerated once more, and Zarkon knelt beside him as he set the fresh frittata on the table in front of the human.

“Tell me more about Valentine's Day, please,” the Galra requested quietly, settling a hand on the chair beside Lance's arm, “it is a day for lovers?”

It took a couple of attempts for Lance to find his voice. “Uh, mostly, yeah. A lot of people complain about it being mostly commercial any more, but um. It's...actually one of my favorite holidays.”

“You have been known to enjoy chocolate,” Zarkon acknowledged with a smile.

“Yeah, but. It's about love. And you know how much I love love, Z. Hunk and I did a picnic on the dunes with all these dishes he'd cooked our freshman year, it was awesome. One of my favorite memories.”

“So it's a favored holiday...is that why Shirogane sent you a present even though he has a husband?”

“It's not just about—okay listen, first of all. He's not monogamous and neither is Curtis, second, it's not uncommon at all to get your friends Valentine's Day presents, and third of all, shut your entire mouth, Zarkon.” But Lance had relaxed out of his panic attack by the time he got to the end of the list, and he leaned forward to bump his forehead against Zarkon's in gratitude as Alfor vaulted the back of the couch to plop into the chair beside Lance's. “Dude—please. Put your dick away.”

“I'm not wearing pants and I don't have a sheath so I shan't,” the blond leaned forward to help himself to the food in front of Lance and peer curiously at the box. “So what's in it?”

“Kind of a care package. Some chocolates, some lingerie—probably the wrong size, everyone thinks I'm a small because I look so skinny—some toys, lube.”

“Are those the kind of present one typically gets a friend for Valentine's Day?” Zarkon asked curiously.

“Uh, no. Not typically. This is definitely something more suited to a lover.”

“What is Haxus doing for Katharine, do you think?” Alfor asked curiously, then blinked when the other two stared at him. “What? Shiro's present to Lance is very sexual in nature, presumably since good food cannot be shipped safely on this planet--”

“And Shirogane wouldn't recognize good food if it introduced itself,” Zarkon muttered.

“But their relationship doesn't have a sexual aspect. You said you and Hunk went on a picnic, is that typical?”

“Oh, yeah, picnic's a Valentine's staple. All the favorite foods, a nice private romantic spot, a bottle of good champagne—or sparkling cider, or Juniberry Fizz--” he shot Zarkon another grin, “a nice thick blanket so you don't get nature in places you don't intend, and you have a picnic and maybe make out or make love if the mood strikes. If one of you is loud you gotta make sure you're super out of the way, because sex in public is still illegal in most places.”

“It does sound...romantic,” the Galra agreed, thoughtful.

“I've heard some people bring those little LED candles for moodlighting if they do the picnic around sunset,” Lance suggested, alternating between watching Zarkon's forming idea and Alfor blissfully inhaling food that hadn't been meant for him. “Though for Pidge and Haxus they'll probably want to go somewhere with good wifi and an abundance of breadsticks.”

“One of these days we'll convince those children that Olive Garden didn't need to survive the apocalypse,” Alfor sighed.

“When they run out of breadsticks, maybe.” Lance lightly ran his hand over the crest of bone plating on Zarkon's head and gave him a smile. “There should be a nice sturdy walnut basket in the back of the pantry,” he suggested gently, “and you know we have no shortage of blankets.”

“I've no desire to use up food meant for the farm--”

“Zarkon,” the human cupped his jaw and bumped their heads together again, “we have plenty of money to get more if we run out. If you want to make someone a romantic picnic for Valentine's Day, go right ahead.”

“Try not to snort too many trapflowers if you get nervous,” Alfor noted, scraping the fork along Lance's plate to get up the last of the spinach, “no one needs you that stoned.”

“I have never been too stoned to give someone a good time,” the Galra informed him primly, then smiled and straightened up. “I'll look for the basket when I'm done making lunch.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hillside overlooking the valley that Zarkon chose was out of the way; several hours' trek through thick brush for a human, so he could be assured of privacy. He'd trapped some local wildlife on his way, shouldering the cage of hares and birds easily, and he set them aside as he laid out the blanket—glorious swirls of blue-violet and red with small specks of silver embroidery representing stars, it looked odd in the still-bright light of early evening—and settled the picnic basket on one corner. He settled candles on the flat stones ringing the mound of the hilltop and lit them carefully as he placed them. The traces of old power lingered here, and he hoped they would assist him in his plan.

He pulled a goblet carved from a single piece of smoky quartz from the picnic basket and retrieved a hare from the cage. He slit its throat and bled it into the goblet, then set it aside to clean and skin later and reached for a pheasant. The sunset was just beginning to stain the sky orange above the horizon when he heard a footstep behind him.

“Calling is less dramatic, husband,” Honerva's voice carried an echo to it, and when he lifted his head to smile at her, she seemed as if she were only just solidifying, “and easier on the local ecosystem.”

“They are a gift,” he said simply, setting down a drained crow and lifting the overflowing goblet to offer it to her.

“Tiny lives for a few tiny moments?” She asked wryly, but she accepted the offering, wiping the blood carefully from the outside with the edge of her sleeve. “Sweet but pointless, as ever. Allura already appealed to the others to allow us this night.” She took a deep drink from the goblet and made a face, then handed it back. “Still an obligate insectivore,” she wheezed, gagging.

“Wh—you weren't meant to drink it,” he quickly took the cup from her and set it aside, getting to his feet to hold her shoulders while she turned to vomit, “why would you do that?”

“Because, silly me--” she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, “I thought that ascending above godhood would give me some perks. Like no longer having to limit my diet. If I wasn't meant to drink it, why did you put it in a cup?”

“It was symbolic. The deaths were for you to consume. I'll use a bowl next time.”

“Or just call. You're my husband, Zarkon, you hardly need a ritual.” She leaned against him, then sighed. “The candles are nice, though. What's in the basket?”

“Food, but I think we should let your stomach settle a little first,” he suggested with a touch of humor. He reached up to gently stroke her hair, and smiled when she tipped her head to look up at him. “Perhaps we could watch the sunset. It's very different here than it was on Altea's capitol planet, or Daibazaal.”

“Of course it's different,” she scoffed, but released him so he could sit, “the atmospheric shell is drastically different, not to mention the variations in the atmosphere itself. The chemical composition through which the angled light is being presented is completely--” she grunted as she threw herself gracelessly in his lap, “and almost entirely unlike either of the planets of our birth.” She tilted her head back to look up at him and clicked her tongue at his soft smile. “Don't say stupid things just to listen to me rant.”

“I have missed the sound of your voice,” he told her simply, dropping his head to rub his forehead against her hair.

“Do you not have adequate company? My cousin, the blue-eyed boy who almost ruined my plans, your would be son-spouse...” She trailed off with a vague gesture, squinting at the sunset as it deepened.

“Alfor and Lance and Sendak are wonderful company,” he agreed mildly, stroking her hair, “but they are not you.”

“I am...” she dragged in a long breath of cooling evening air, “under review. It took a great deal of work for the girl to get them to agree to tonight. I am unavailable to keep you company at all times, husband.”

He leaned back slightly to look down at the back of her head. “Is that why she sends them here? To keep us company?”

“Don't be ridiculous. You have nothing to do with it. She wants them to feel the strength of the boy that helped her stop being so angry. She loves him dearly, and relies on his help to acclimate them to their return. She escorts them here, even, every time.” She shifted the way she sat, and squinted up at him. “I have no desire to talk about your adopted daughter.”

He chuckled and pressed his face to the top of her head. “You are patient to have endured it for so long. Would you like to see the foods I've made you?”

“Do I have to move?”

“No.” He reached out to open the basket and pulled out the first container. “Chili-rolled cicadas,” he settled the container in her lap and politely ignored that she broke the lid while ripping it off as he dug out the second and third containers, “curry-fried beetle grubs, and the main course is a spicy lasagna with chopped moths and cricket-flour noodles.”

“How spicy?” She asked, crunching into a cicada.

“Lance says I made it with 'more peppers than sense,'” he told her with a smile, setting the lasagna down and pulling out a spatula and a small plate.

“And dessert?”

“Trapflower crème brulee.”

She looked over the food and then up at him. “You don't intend to eat with me?”

His smile grew. “I intended a different feast for myself, if you'll allow.”

She looked him over carefully, then slid from his lap and stood, letting him slide her heavy robe from her shoulders and lay it aside. “I suppose it's a good thing for both of us that I can't choke to death,” she noted dryly, sitting with her back against a boulder and settling in with her first course in her hands and her legs spread.

He hummed in agreement as he lowered himself onto his belly, sliding his hands up the outsides of her thighs and inhaling deeply through his nose. “Allow me to express my gratitude.”

She almost bit into her own finger when his tongue first touched her, and let out a heavy breath through the vents in her sides. She saw him raise his eyes briefly and put one hand on his head in response to the smug look in them as they met hers. She didn't push, but her message was clear enough that he closed his eyes to focus on his task.

The first few licks were slow, deliberate; just enough to acclimate her body to the touch and pull a few small noises from the depths of her throat. He only increased the pressure to slip between her lower lips when he felt her relax slightly, and hummed at the short, sharp intake of air above his head. He tightened his fingers against her thighs and growled at the taste of her, which pulled another small huff from her vents.

She ate another cicada, mind already starting to haze over at the enthusiasm with which he tasted her; the drag and flick of his tongue brought a rush of heat through her veins that made the small of her back go numb. She dropped her head back against the boulder and slumped down a little further, pressing against his mouth. One hand slid over the heavy plates on his head as the other fished out one crunchy treat after another. Her eyes were open, and some part of her mind registered the deepening colors of the sunset, but most of her attention was on the shivering coil of heat sliding and thrusting against her flesh.

She hissed and jerked her head upright when she felt the edge of a fang scrape across swollen skin, but the hand on Zarkon's head stayed gentle. He met her eyes for a fraction of a moment before she set aside the empty cicada container and reached for the grubs. The spicy treat made her let out a little huff of air over her tongue after she swallowed. “Good,” she hummed, stroking the crest of his plates, “I think I started to forget.”

He made a questioning sound and partially lifted his head, and she carefully pushed him back down again. “What a good chef you are,” she clarified, and cackled as he obediently pressed his tongue against her again. She curled downward over him for a moment, arced over his head, and stroked her fingers down to the back of his neck. “I never forgot this,” she whispered, bending in half to press her lips to the top of his head.

His fingers flexed on her thighs, and she leaned back against the boulder once more, rocking herself up against the ridge of his nose. He growled quietly at her enthusiasm, and the vibrations made her spasm. She stared up at the sky again and rolled her tongue against her teeth. “You're missing the sunset, husband,” she teased, stroking his neck. He responding growl pulled another laugh from her throat. “Is that not what you summoned me h—oh!”

Her fingers flexed against his head at the sudden application of suction, but she was still careful not to grip him too tightly. “Get up here and watch the sunset with me,” she panted, tugging lightly upwards against his bone plates.

He lifted his head with the touch, licking his lips clean. “Am I not to feast?” He asked politely.

She clicked her tongue and patted his cheek. “Take off your pants and lean back,” she instructed gently, “and we'll watch the sunset. Or...what's the phrase that leggy human uses? I'll...ride you into it.”


End file.
